


Better Together

by fairywine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Nyotalia, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:16:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1476061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairywine/pseuds/fairywine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenic Roskilde, Denmark, a perfect place to unwind and reconnect with your immortal, semi-dysfuntional Nordic family. Nyo/Fem!Nordics-ensemble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Together

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Nordic 5 Secret Santa Exchange 2010. I tried to keep this as gen as possible with more or less equal focus on each Nordic, since the original request called for no slash. If there's any subtext, it should at least be pretty low, and definitely less than Himaruya himself would show. I also when with "Sve", rather than "Su-san". Title comes from "Better Together" by Jack Johnson.

_It’s Iceland who first comes up with the idea that becomes a tradition for all five of the Nordic Nations, after World War II when there wasn’t one of them who didn’t harbor feelings of anger and resentment toward another. Connections that have held throughout the centuries, however tenuously that might have been, are now dangerously frayed at a time they could least afford to be._

_“What if we had some bonding time?” Iceland had asked, her composure remaining miraculously in place despite the incredulous looks she received from the rest of them. “You know, just for us where we don’t have to think about work, even for a bit…” She trails off, her cheeks heating up in the way she has when she’s embarrassed and trying not to show it._

_There’s silence, strained under the weight that of all that has happened, before Finland tentatively breaks it._

_“It’s worth a try, right?” Finland gives a weak smile, rubbing the back of her head with her left arm. The right-what had been Karelia-was still limp in a sling, recovering to become a different part of her lands. “A-and I think we really need it, too.”_

_“Fine.” Denmark rolls her shoulders back, chin lifting with her usual willfulness despite the battering it had taken. “Not like we have much to lose, by this point.”_

Not the most promising beginning, it’s true. But in the end, it works. The raw wounds they all have inside don’t magically vanish, but they at least start to heal over. So the five Nordic Nations meet up again the same time next year, and the year after that, and soon enough they’d all learned to have that week in early January circled on their calendars.

Once the tradition sets itself firmly in their lives, a system of sorts is worked out. They alternate years, Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Finland, Iceland, and what exactly they end up doing is left to the devices of whoever is hosting. Everything from ski trips to spa resorts to just a quiet week up in the mountains, they’ve done. One especially cold winter, Norway of all people declared she had seen enough of snow and took them all to Disneyland for their vacation instead.

This year it’s Denmark’s turn. Surprisingly, the boisterous Nation chose not to be as extravagant as usual, deciding to hold their meet-up at her house in the northern Zealand town of Roskilde. There’s no disapproval of her decision though, even from Norway or Sweden. With how hectic things had become as of late, a little quiet relaxation is just what they need.

By the time Sweden and Finland arrive together to the cottage just outside the city itself, the presence of Norway’s car and Denmark’s bike in the drive signal that the others are already there. Iceland herself sits on the stoop, watching her puffin make lazy circles in the sky.

“I’m sorry we’re so late, there was a delay at the station-” Finland apologizes as she steps out of the Saab, a full tote bag slung over her shoulder. Behind her Sweden already unloads the contents of the trunk, as seriously as if it were an act of state.

“It’s fine, so calm down.” Iceland stands, brushing herself off. “Den’s already gotten started on dinner, though.”

Sweden sniffs the air carefully, catches the odor of frying meat and spices. “Nn. Frikadeller, ‘m thinkin’.”

“Among others. And enough alcohol to open her own store.”

“Well, that’s a given,” Finland says as kindly as she can. Iceland opens the door for them, the scent of food cooking wafting through the pale wooden hallway. For all they give Denmark a hard time, she is quite a good cook. To say they didn’t feel a simultaneous pang of hunger would be a lie.

Norway pokes her head out then, and has a less aggravated air than they’re used to seeing from her when she’s been spending extended periods of time alone with Denmark.

“Ah, you’re finally here. Coffee? Something stronger?” Norway asks, tying the belt of her open-cardigan a little tighter around herself. It wasn’t quite as bad a winter as some they had lived through, but still considerably chilly.

“C’ffee’s f’ne,” Sweden grunts as she drops the last of the luggage in the alcove. Finland nods in agreement, taking the bags to Denmark’s guest rooms before the taller woman could do it herself. The stately blonde gives a little half-sigh at that, but doesn’t offer a protest.

“Mm. Two sugars, no cream, right?” Norway states Sweden’s usual way of taking the beverage, even if she doesn’t need to. They’ve been doing this for so long she could probably make any one of them a perfect cup of coffee in her sleep. “And straight black for Finland.”

“Y’h.” Sweden shrugs out of her thick coat, unwinding the scarf draped around her neck. “Den need any h’lp w’cookin’?”

“Nope!” Denmark bellows from the kitchen, her sensitive ears evidently picking up the conversation. “Just set the dishes out, will ya? I’m almost done here.”

The evening meal passes pleasantly, the aged oak dining table weighed down with all manner of food. It has the fresh taste of produce acquired from the local farmer’s market, and a certain deliciousness that just couldn’t be replicated by grocery-store bought food. They eat without worrying about holding back, helping themselves to plentiful amounts of meatballs, au gratin potatoes, peas, and more besides. The conversation is light and easy, tempered by Denmark’s well-stocked liquor cabinet.

“Mm, Den…this blackcurrant wine is _so_ good,” Finland says brightly, swirling her glass around before draining it.

“This was one of the better years for the crop.” Denmark leans back in her seat, a fresh mug of-naturally-beer in hand. “You should have seen it-there were so many berries I didn’t know what do to with it all.”

“You made it?” Iceland pauses from passing her puffin tidbits, more piqued than she is clearly willing to let on. They’re all used to it though-there’s always been a part of the younger Nation that feels she has to act extra mature to be taken seriously, but none of them really mind obliging her.

“The wine, about twenty jars of preserves, syrups, an’ more crap than I can tell you.” Denmark chuckles, swigging back some of her beer. “You should have seen my neighbors round these parts. They started avoiding me just so they wouldn’t have to take another basket of berries off my hands.”

They all laugh, or at least Finland and Denmark do while the others settle for more reserved expressions of amusement. After it dies down, Denmark continues with a grin, “Fortunately, I managed to sucker Belgium and Netherlands into taking the rest. But I have a few extra bottles if you want one, Fin.”

“Really?” Finland lights up, the happiness well-suiting her features. “Are you sure?”

“Sure.” Denmark waves it off airily. “You’re doing me a favor, more like.”

“Still, thank you.” Finland taps her finger to her lips, looking thoughtful. “Maybe I could bring you some of my cook-”

“That’s okay!” Denmark says hastily. More than one smile is suppressed as Sweden pats a pouting Finland’s back in a conciliatory manner. “Now, could someone pass me more rye bread?”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
Finland finds herself the first one up the next morning, the pale sunlight striving to make measure against a winter world. She stretches out the kinks in her back, loosening up long-stiff muscles. The rug in Denmark’s living room may have been very plush, but it still isn’t the most pliant of sleeping surfaces. The other Nordic nations are scattered about in various depths of sleep and positions, Norway having staked a claim to the couch while Iceland is curled up like a cat in the armchair by the fire. Denmark and Sweden aren’t too far from where Finland is, by the fireplace with the former half-sprawled over the latter and still clutching a bottle of akvavit with an iron grip.

Clicking her tongue as a mixture of amusement and fondness fills her, Finland gets to her feet. Draping her blanket over the slumbering duo, she carefully makes her way to the kitchen while picking up various empty bottles of liquor. Out of lack of anything better to do, Finland starts tidying up last night’s mess. It strikes up memories of similar nights during the Kalmar Union, when Denmark, Sweden and even Norway would imbibe to dawn and usually pass out wherever their last drink had been taken. As hot water runs into the sink basin already loaded up with soap, Finland shakes her head. Really, to get that way from only a few bottles of wine and a case or two of beer. Privately, she thinks they’ve all gotten a bit soft in the modern age, but Finland’s too kind-and wise enough-to voice such thoughts.

It’s quiet but for the sound of dishes being washed and then stacked in the drainer. Finland hums a tune under her breath, lost in her cleaning in the way simple tasks could be so absorbing. The kitchen is sparkling by the time she’s done and moved onto the dining room. Dealing with the mess with the same energy she had tackled the kitchen with, it’s only a pained groan that distracts Finland mid-table wipe.

“Yegods…why are you so damn cheerful?” Denmark grouses, wrapping the blanket around her like a cocoon. “I know you drank enough to make Russia’s liver quit last night, so how come you aren’t hungover?”

“It wasn’t _that_ much,” Finland protests as she disappears into the kitchen. Her reappearance sees her bearing a tray loaded with freshly brewed coffee and mugs, along with cream and sugar. Filling one up with just a dash of cream, she waves it under the Dane’s nose. “And rude people don’t get this.”

Her reddened eyes really make the glare Denmark sends her way that much scarier. “Fin, I’m gonna say this only once. Don’t taunt a Viking in need of caffeine.”

Any reply Finland would have made is made unnecessary when a paperback is chucked with laser-keen accuracy to hit Denmark’s head. She goes down, clutching her temples in pain as Norway pops up over on the other side of the couch.

“Sister, you’re noisy.” Norway blocks her eyes from the sunlight, but overall she doesn’t seem nearly in nearly as bad a state as Denmark. “I’ll take one of those if you don’t mind, Finland.”

“Norrrrrr-!!” Denmark whines from where she’s curled up on the floor, so piteously Finland goes ahead and gives her the coffee anyway. By now, the noise has woken up Iceland and Sweden, and Finland goes ahead to get them the drinks she knows they need. If they still want to go to Roskilde’s weekly flea market as they had planned, it’d be good for everyone not to be pained by raging headaches.

Fortunately, by lunchtime the hangovers have disappeared and the sunshine is cutting through the winter gloom. Going out is one of those things they’ve learned to work into their vacation times when they’re in more cloistered areas-cabin fever, former raiders, and access to plenty of sharp objects is not a formula for a good time. Besides, Finland likes flea markets. They have personality, and something in them reminds her distantly of the bustling marketplaces of older times before shops and chains.

Iceland drifts off upon spotting a stall loaded up with old records, and Denmark drags a protesting Norway away to one sporting all manner of knickknacks. Finland suppresses a laugh, and can see Sweden’s lips twitch slightly out of the corner of her eye.

“Well, as long as everyone is having fun, right?”

“Mm.”

They walk on rather aimlessly, lending the whole enterprise an entertaining sense of discovery. Finland merely goes to whatever attracts her fancy at the time, whether it’s a booth selling second hand books (thankfully, Sweden doesn’t comment on her somewhat embarrassing purchase of a few romance novels), glassware, jewelry, or any number of other things. They occasionally cross paths with the others, and Denmark’s tote bag is already bulging with purchases just an hour after they’ve come to the market. Finland isn’t really sure what the other Nation really needs with what looks to be a gigantic plush sheep, an antique mirror, an _Olsen-Banden_ poster and three candlesticks, among some other items she can only guess at, but she supposes a vacation is about indulging oneself.

Sweden’s wandered away by the time Finland stands in front of a stand displaying adorable little charms, made of clay and painted over in cheerful colors. She trails her fingers over them delicately, liking what she sees but at the same time not finding any one of them really standing out for her. There are so many of the ornaments too, decorating necklaces and bracelets and more. Even little ones attached to straps, for decorating a purse or phone.

Then Finland sees one charm in particular, and knows just who it would be perfect for. Purchasing it, she’s given the tiny charm and its dark blue strap in a pink paper bag that suits the character of the stall’s goods. Pleased with herself, she turns around and nearly ends up knocking Sweden over.

“Oh, Sve! Sorry, are you okay?” Finland asks the taller woman.

“’m fine.” Sweden smoothes out her hair, repins the flower clip holding back a piece of her lengthy blonde hair. Aquamarine eyes flick to the bag in Finland’s hands, and she’s known the other Nation enough years to recognize curiosity when she sees it.

“Here. It’s for you.” Finland hands over the bag with a bright smile, watching Sweden blink before taking it up. Opening it reveals the contents, a little dark blue phone strap with a cinnamon roll charm. “I know it isn’t much, but I thought it was cute and-”

“Th’nks. I l’ve it,” Sweden says so sincerely, moreso than such a little thing really warrants. Before Finland can protest it, Denmark’s voice cuts her off.

“Come on, you two! I’m starving here and it’s almost time for dinner!”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
The next night Sweden thumbs through a stack of DVDs, mulling over the choices before her. After a long day of biking around the countryside, a night in relaxing with a movie and plentiful amounts of snack food would be a nice way to unwind. The only question…what to pick that would satisfy such a diverse variety of tastes?

World War Two movies are automatically out, by unspoken agreement. Even with the time that’s passed, some wounds don’t take well to being poked at. Films originating from any of their _own_ countries end up being banned too after the massive brawl that resulted from Denmark’s ill-timed comment of ‘If I have to watch that damn chess scene again, Sverige, I’m gonna make that time in Gotland look like a football riot-’ and Sweden’s fist connecting with her face.

It is around then the rule about making sure to go out regularly is established too, Sweden recalls.

Exhaling, she narrows it down to five choices. Mostly a spread of American films, mainly because it’s no insult to anyone present if they don’t like the movie. Not that Sweden thinks anyone will have a problem with the final winner she ends up going with.

“Sweden, have you decided?” Norway inquires, a full bowl of newly-popped popcorn in hand. “It’s going to get cold if you take much longer.”

“’s a ser’ous m’tter,” Sweden tells the shorter Nation, and she’s only half-joking when she says that. But she hands over the case to Norway, who looks down upon it with a gently lifted brow.

“Well, this should be alright with everyone.” She passes the movie to Iceland, who kneels down to cue up the player. “If we’re going to watch both parts in one go, I might make more popcorn.”

“Both parts?” Denmark pipes up from the couch. Glancing at the case by Iceland’s foot, she grins. “Kill Bill? Oh, sweet! Hey, you know what we should totally do-”

“If that sentence ends with ‘dress up like the Kill Bill characters for this year’s Halloween Costume Contest’, the answer is going to always be no,” Iceland says flatly.

“Come on! Last year we lost to England’s group and freaking _Rocky Horror_ costumes. We haven’t even won since the year we all did Lord of the Rings,” Denmark whines. She changes tack abruptly, grinning at Iceland. “I’ll let you be Gogo-”

“I don’t think we even have enough people to do a full cast,” Finland cuts in, setting down a tray laden with soda and beer on the coffee table.

“Which is why we’ll get Greenland, Faroe, and Åland to help out, duh.” Denmark’s face grows animated as her enthusiasm rises, and it would have taken a hard heart indeed not to be swept up in it. Fortunately, they’d all grown immune long ago.

“And who’s supposed to be the Bride, sister?” Norway asks in voice that says she clearly already knows the answer to that question. Popping the tab off a beer, Norway takes a swig as if to draw strength from the alcohol.

“I’d look kickass in that jumpsuit and you all know it.” Denmark makes a gesture for her own can, catching the one Norway aims rather close to her head easily.

“Thurman’s one o’m’ne, on her ma’s side,” Sweden points out with only a little smugness lacing her stoic voice.

“Shut it, or I’ll make _you_ be Elle Driver-in the nurse outfit, by the way-instead of Fin!” Denmark points at the Nation in question dramatically, like everything’s already been decided.

“M-me?! Why me?” Finland stutters, violet eyes wide.

“Strategy.” Denmark leans back, directing her gaze pointedly south of the shorter woman’s face. “France is heading the judging committee this year.”

No one says anything for moment. Then Finland blushes furiously, covering her generous chest, and Denmark finds herself the unwitting target of every throw pillow within reach.

“Ack! Admit it, you all thought the same-” A particularly tasteful blue suede cushion to the face cuts off that sentence. “Damn, it’s not like it’s not obvious-” She ducks a hardcover copy of _Män som hatar kvinnor_ , her face becoming notably more panicked. “Are you trying to kill me here?!”

“Stop harassing people who can’t help how their figures are!” Finland yells, arm already rearing back with the second volume in the series. Knowing full well both the typical heaviness of the average Larsson work and the accuracy of Finland’s aim, the Dane quickly abandons pride in favor of survival.

“I’m sorry!” Denmark gets to her knees in supplication, wrapping her arms around Finland’s legs in a way that nearly throws her off balance. “I take it back!”

“And…?” Finland trails off meaningfully, voice still laced with anger.

Denmark gives her a puppy-dog look for the ages, one that the Finnish woman remains completely unmoved by. After a minute she relents with a sigh. “And I’ll lower those trade tariffs you were asking me about.”

“Alright then.” Finland is all smiles now, the foreboding aura about her disappearing like storm clouds after a long rain. She claps her hands cheerfully together, apparently remembering something. “Oh, let me get the candy and then we can start watching!” As she darts away to the kitchen, the others share a glance.

“C’ved fast, didn’t y’?” Sweden mutters, still plenty annoyed with Denmark herself.

“I was looking death in the eye, can you blame me?” Denmark hisses in response, quickly straightening up and leaping over the back of the couch to land next to Iceland when the opening sequence starts. Sweden joins them, leaving the loveseat for Norway and Finland to share. The Dane still doesn’t seem to have completely learned her lesson, for she continues more loudly after shoving a handful of chocolate drops in her mouth, “I’d still look awesome in that jumpsuit-mmph!”

“No talking during the movie, sister,” Norway orders, not breaking her gaze to the television even as she holds her hand firmly over Denmark’s mouth.

“Mmph mmph mmph?”

“I said no.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
Over the years Iceland has been to Roskilde many, many times-in the days before the Kalmar Union it had been the most important town in Denmark, and even after the union dissolved kings and queens of the land were buried there-but the balance it pulls off as a city never fails to surprise her. It has the charm of a smaller town, and thanks to the university the energy and urban feel of a bigger one. It’s modern yet buildings like the great Gothic cathedral are a testament to the city’s true age. The combination of elements so varied from one another somehow works in Roskilde, and as a result Iceland is secretly quite fond of it.

Naturally, she will never let Denmark know this. The woman’s ego doesn’t need to be any bigger than it already is. But Iceland is still free to enjoy the town in her heart, even if she doesn’t show many outward signs of it.

They’d decided to spend the day out in the town and seeing the sights. Denmark is always proud of a chance to show off one of her cities, and in general it’s good for them to get out in the interest of avoiding feeling stifled. The time passes pleasantly while they tour about the city proper, and then Denmark abruptly declares they are to take a small detour after lunch.

Said detour involves a short drive out of the city, and though Iceland hasn’t actually been to Roskilde in many years prior to this trip she can tell they are heading towards the town’s fjord. Finally a building comes into their line of vision within the car, long and grey and rectangular. Iceland stares at it for a second, wondering at the vague feeling of recognition she’s experiencing. Then something in the recesses of her memory clicks.

“ _Vikingeskibsmuseet_?” She asks Denmark, who nods with a huge grin.

“Yeah! I know the last time we were all in Roskilde they were still buildin’ the museum, so there’s a lot of cool stuff you haven’t seen here.” Denmark pulls into the parking lot with ease, bouncing out of the car with barely-restrained enthusiasm. “I mean, there were fourteen ships in all, not just five, and they’ve even built some working replicas-”

“It’s too cold out to even sail those, Den,” Norway cuts in, but Iceland can tell her sister is more interested than she’s letting on. “A Viking museum, huh?”

“Relive the glory days a bit, you know?” Denmark smiles nostalgically. “Beating up England…beating up Scotland…beating up Ireland…beating up-”

“I think we get the idea, Denmark.” Finland looks slightly annoyed, arms crossed.

“Chill, Fin. Even if you weren’t a Viking Nation, at least we didn’t raid you.”

“No, just Russia, and look how well _that_ worked out in the end,” Finland sighs, but her shoulders relax and she looks less tense. “I guess it’s important to know where you come from, though.”

“Yeah, so let’s go!” Denmark bounds off, not even bothering to check and see if they were following. After a moment’s pause, they do.

The Viking Ship Museum is extremely fascinating, as it turns out. They may have actually lived through that tumultuous age themselves, but it has been so very long since those days of fighting and sailing the seas. To see those ships laid out so carefully, ranging from simple cargo ships to a warship over fifteen meters long, feels almost like going back in time. Standing in front of one of the longboats, Iceland reminds with almost painful clarity summers her harbors were practically overflowing with such ships. To raid, to trade, to fight…back then, the world had been so large, and so small at the same time. But they had grasped it all the same, because the seas had been _theirs_.

Sweden standing with an intent gaze before one of the display cases, bearing an assortment of weapons, distracts Iceland from her thoughts. She chances a peek herself, but doesn’t see what has the taller woman’s attention so taken. None of the weapons seem anything out of the ordinary for that period to her.

“Sví?” Iceland finally asks when curiosity gets the better of her. “What are you looking at?”

Sweden points to one of the daggers in the case, a scowl knitting her features. “’s _mine_.”

“What? The dagger?” Iceland looks a little closer, secretly wondering how on earth the Swede could even tell.

“Got m’seal onnit.” Sweden crosses her arms, the look on her face one that would have had Finland stuttering timidly in fear during far earlier times. “Shoulda kn’wn Den was lyin’ wh’n she s’id she didn’t h’ve it.”

“Does it even matter now? It’s not like you can just ask for it back anyway,” Iceland points out. Maybe it’s the difference in her age compared to the older Nordic Nations, but sometimes she wonders how they’ve even survived this long being as strange as they all are.

In the dead of the night, she occasionally is kept up from peaceful sleep with thoughts that _she’ll_ become that odd too with the passing years, but Iceland tries not to dwell on such disturbing things.

“-and ‘s t’ _pr’nc’ple_ o’ t’th’ng-” Sweden’s voice breaks Iceland out of her musings, the woman’s accent becoming noticeably thicker in her irritation.

“Yeah, well, I noticed _you_ still have my clasp-you know, the gold one with the wolves-in your National Antiquities Museum.” Denmark has a scowl fit to match Sweden’s, and with all the Viking goods around them Iceland really has to fight down the nervous urge to back up. “That was a gift from Germania, too.”

“If we all spent time arguing about what belongs to whom, we’d be here for a hundred years straight.” Norway’s voice spares no room for arguing, and it’s only reinforced by Finland’s stern expression and crossed arms behind her. “If it’s really that huge a deal, save it for after the vacation’s up.”

“We’re all adult enough to do that, right?” Finland adds, knowing full well to say anything to the contrary would only prove the speaker in question childish-a position none of them would think of putting themselves in.

Denmark and Sweden look put out still, but the worst of it seems to have passed. Reading this, Iceland speaks up.

“Let’s go then. It’s almost closing time anyway, and I need to pick up some stuff for dinner tonight.”

“Fine-” The two tallest Nordics say as one, before shooting each other a glare. Iceland turns on her heel, all the better to hide her despairing expression at the thought immaturity could still beat over two thousand years of life.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
“So me ‘n Prussia, we were at this dive in Amsterdam-totally seedy, but they got a bartender who knows his-dammit, that’s too cold Norge!” Denmark yelps before trying to squirm away. It doesn’t matter-even with one hand applying on a face mask, Norway can still keep the Dane in place.

“With all I know you’ve been through, you can’t expect me to believe you can’t handle a little cold?” Norway continues to swipe on the mask, a masterful mixture of chilled avocado, lemon, and some clay she is particularly proud of. There’s a reason whenever the Nordic Nations do any sort of beauty night, Norway is usually in charge of it-she knows her stuff. “Like that time England shot you through with an arrow, and you just went on about how it was ‘only a scratch’ until you passed out-”

“That’s different!” Denmark protests, but she settles down enough so Norway finishes her application. When she finishes, she rinses her messy hands off in the kitchen sink.

“Well, if you can deal with bleeding out that much then just walking it off, you can deal with a face mask for ten minutes.” Norway sets the timer, and continues without even glancing back, “Don’t pick at it, sister.”

Ignoring Denmark’s exaggerated slump, Norway takes a look over to where Iceland is soaking her hands in a bowl filled with warm water and a dash of bath oil and flower petals.

“Out,” Norway orders, steam heated towel at ready. She pats Iceland off, then reaches for the cuticle clipper she has off to the side. Setting to work, she glances at the numerous bottles lined up on the table. “Have you still not picked a color yet?”

“T-there’s just too many of them.” Iceland’s cheeks flush faintly. “Why do you even need so much nail polish? I counted fifteen shades of pink alone.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having choices.” Norway shrugs, rinsing off the cuticle clipper. She replaces it with a nail clipper, evening out some disturbingly ragged nail ends. “I think I’ll lend you a few to take back home. You need to stop biting them, and painting your nails regularly helps with that.”

Iceland goes redder, but Finland interrupts her before the younger girl can offer up any sort of defense.

“Norway, could you toss me that sparkly dark purple one? I’m going to do Sve’s toes with it.” Finland holds her hands out, almost unrecognizable under the blueberry and rose face mask she has on. Sweden is sitting on the couch with her, stretched out so her feet are in the shorter woman’s lap.

“Diva of Geneva,” Norway automatically corrects her, throwing the bottle in question. Finland catches it one-handed, an amused chuckle rising from her throat.

“That name…” Finland shakes the bottle a few times before twisting it open. Swiping off the excess liquid, she starts to paint Sweden’s toes with tiny, precise strokes. “I’m still amazed America escaped Switzerland in one piece after she found out about the Swiss country line.”

“Netherlands, too. ‘s m’de in her h’use,” Sweden contributes, lying lazily back with eyes closed against the armrest like a lion napping on a warm rock.

“It’s not something to get so worked up over,” Norway says mildly. Tired of waiting for her sister to pick and long done with the base coat, she snatches a bottle of palest pink nail polish-It’s a Girl-and gets started applying it. Tuning out Iceland’s protesting, she continues, “And it’s not America really has a say in what the company names its colors. Otherwise they would have never done a Russian country line.”

“Of course you’d be okay with it, Princess.” Denmark grins, leaning back far enough that the legs of her seat wobble precariously. “You’re such a girl, Nor-OWW!”

“I _am_ a girl. You are too, even if you seem to need reminding of the fact,” Norway tells her coolly, but the tweezers in her hand snap menacingly. Already, a few of the Dane’s eyebrow hairs are pinched in its grasp. “Now, shall we trim down those pesky brows some more…?”

“I’m gonna wash my mask off!” Denmark blurts out, making a hasty retreat. Norway just rolls her eyes, glancing down at the tool in her hand.

“Really, it doesn’t hurt that much.” Nonetheless, she sets it down and goes back to Iceland’s manicure. For some reason, the fight has left her sister and she sits quietly while Norway finishes up.

“Haha, ‘beauty is pain’, right?” Finland laughs, carefully moving Sweden’s now finished feet off her lap. “I’m going to wash this off too, my face is starting to itch.”

“Don’t forget to tone and moisturize,” Norway reminds her. She riffles through the bottles on the table, seeking out her own color. For some reason, she’s in a red sort of a mood, and her fingers close around the deep crimson of Vodka and Caviar. It’s much faster when Norway does her own hands-helped by the fact she actually takes proper care of herself, unlike the rest of her fellow Nordics, apparently-and by the time Finland re-emerges with face freshly scrubbed and a still-nervous Denmark trailing behind her she’s already applying her top coat.

“I know, I know. Careful, you’re starting to sound like France,” Finland teases. She pours herself a cup of coffee and sits down, eyes lighting up. “Actually did you hear what happened to her the other day?”

“Tried getting pictures of Ukraine showering, I know,” Iceland pipes up. “Russia was…not happy about it.”

“Did that thing where she starts giggling ‘kolkolkol’ and strokes that shovel in a really creepy way?” Finland takes a sip of her coffee, shuddering in memory. “I’ve been there.”

“Prussia mentioned she was going to try again, too.” Denmark shakes her head, picking up a cookie from a plate laden with sweets. “That’s a woman whose dedication to perversion is without question.”

“Seychelles told me she tried the same thing with him,” Iceland recalls. “Except he just threw fish at her until she left.”

Norway wrinkles her nose. “Well, that explains the smell at the last world meeting we had. That’s not the sort of thing you can just wash away.”

None of them say anything, until Sweden finally asks from the safety of the couch, “An’ how d’you know th’t, Nor?”

The glare Norway turns their way is utterly terrifying, and fear keeps the speech from their mouths this time around.

“A-ah, did you also hear what happened the last time Austria and Hungary went out?” Finland laughs nervously, trying to change the subject. “Prussia followed them through the whole thing dressed in a bunny costume before Hungary noticed-”

“Polar bear,” Denmark cuts in, subtly edging away from Norway with fright still evident in her face. “She was wearin’ it at the dive bar when we met up. Guess that explains why.”

“Fascinating,” Norway says with a razor-thin smile. “You know, I think you could all use a bit of plucking. We better get started-”

“Den f’rst,” Sweden says quickly, pushing the woman forward as she escapes to the kitchen. “Gonna get s’me wine.”

“Urk!” Denmark swallows dryly as Norway pins her down, tweezers in hand. “B…be gentle, Nor?”

“Aren’t I always?” Norway asks, eyes gleaming with emotion contrary to her expressionless face. “Now, stay still…”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
How quickly time passes, Denmark muses to herself. Coming from someone over two-thousand years old, such a revelation shouldn’t have come as any sort of a surprise. But it does, and maybe the fact that even after all these centuries such little things can still surprise her makes it possible to keep on going as she has. There have been bad times and good times alike, but moments like this, all of them together in a cheerful tavern with delicious food and plenty of her great Danish beer…

Yeah, the world is just awesome.

“What are you looking so happy over, sister?” Norway spears a piece of beer-battered cod onto her fork and chews leisurely. Denmark just grins, able to tell by the lift of her brows the shorter Nation already knows the answer.

“Everything!”

Norway just snorts softly, and takes another bite of her fish. “Of course. You’re easy to please, Den.”

Denmark is about to explain that isn’t it, it’s just there so much to enjoy how could she _not_ be happy. But the opening notes of _Talking To You_ start up over the speakers, and she stops herself to enjoy the song. Her fingers drum out a beat in time to the music, her heel tapping out the rhythm.

“I can’t believe we’re already all leaving tomorrow. It sure passed fast, didn’t it?” Finland notes, swirling around what little of her beer remains in its bottle absently. Finishing off the dregs, she waves her hand at the waiter for another.

“Well, there’s still tonight,” Iceland speaks, passing her puffin a little fish. Denmark isn’t sure why no one seems to have noticed it, but if her people don’t mind it she hardly does.

“Just don’t go too overboard.” Finland smiles sweetly. “I don’t feel like driving everyone to the station because you’re all too hungover to make your trains on your own.”

“God, _one_ time,” Denmark grouses, but in truth she’s not that upset over it. She pulls out her little camera, and pulls off a quick snapshot of everyone at the table while it still looks natural.

“St’ll totin’ that thing ‘round?” Sweden asks, pausing mid-fork lift with her pork loin barely hanging on. “S’not interestin’, pictures o’us eatin’ and t’like.”

“It’s not about interesting, it’s _memories_!” Denmark insists. Switching modes, she does a quick skip through the pictures she’s been taking all this week-Iceland haggling at the flea market, Norway and Sweden asleep on the couch after watching Kill Bill, Finland with her face mask on. “It was fun, so I want to be able to remember it whenever I like.”

“It was fun,” Finland agrees. She eats the last bit of roast beef smørrebrød on her plate, daintily wiping her mouth. “You did a great job this year, Den. It was just what we needed.”

“Really?” Denmark blinks, a little surprised by the compliment. “Something so simple?”

The others exchange glances, and finally Iceland speaks, albeit with a stubbornly tilted chin.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Iceland makes her tone extra grudging, but the flush highlighting her pale cheeks undermines the attitude. “Simple is…best, sometimes.”

Denmark can’t help the wide smile that spreads across her face, and when she hooks her arm around Iceland’s shoulders she pulls the shorter girl in extra close. “Aw, Ice! That’s sweet of you-”

“Don’t take it too far,” Iceland grumbles embarrassedly, extracting herself with some helpful pecking from her puffin. “It’s just the truth.”

“Sure, sure,” Denmark says happily, her mood rising even more.

“It’s a good thing we’re all leaving tomorrow. I don’t think I can deal with how swelled your head is going to get now,” Norway deadpans, Sweden and Iceland nodding in agreement while Finland just looks flustered over their bluntness. Denmark doesn’t mind though-they’re family, however dysfunctional that might actually work out to be, and family’s allowed to tease each other. It’s just how things have always been: she’s too loud, Sweden’s too intimidating, Norway’s too frigid, Finland’s too accommodating, and Ice is too inexperienced.

But there’s no malice behind any of the slings they throw at each other, and God and all His angels wouldn’t be enough to save the fool who thinks they can get away with the same liberties against one of them. Russia is just one of many who learned that the hard way.

Denmark chuckles at the thought, and there must have been some note of the old Viking bloodlust under it. When she stops, she’s the subject of the whole table’s gaze, along with varying degrees of alarm.

“Den?” Iceland asks, a little hesitantly.

“Never mind, it’d take too long to explain,” Denmark waves her off, and before any of them can pry further, quickly adds, “So, who wants drinks? I’m buying next round!”

“F’r _everyone_?” Sweden looks like she can’t quite believe it, but shrugs and goes along with it after a second’s pause. “Nother beer f’r me.”

“Mm…I’ll take some korsenkova, then,” Finland adds.

“Wine is fine. A red, please,” Iceland says.

“…I’ll have a beer too,” Norway finally decides.

“Great! I’ll just go up to the bar and tell the bartender. We’ll get ‘em faster that way!” Denmark gets up, weaving her way around tables and people. Placing the drink order along with a whiskey for herself, she hums along to the song now playing. _In a Moment Like This_ …how fitting.

Senses that have stayed sharp long after the end of the Viking era make the hairs on the back of Denmark’s neck rise. Before she can turn around Sweden leans next to her at the bar, the lack of any notable expression on her face still coming off like there’s something she wants to say.

“Y’changed your mind about the beer, Sverige?” Denmark knows that isn’t it, but ribbing on Sweden is just as entertaining now as it was centuries ago when they were all kids. It’s one of those things that hasn’t changed even when so much else has. “Too late, I already ordered em-”

“S’methin’ botherin’ y’, Den?” Sweden interrupts, still not looking directly at her. Denmark’s eyes widen before she laughs, hard. This does get Sweden to look at her, as does the bartender with the platter of prepared drinks, and what looks like half the bar in the bargain. Still laughing, she takes her whiskey off the tray, and because she’s in a good mood she passes Sweden her beer too.

“Nah. I just love all you guys so much,” Denmark finally manages to get out. She forces herself to stop laughing before it gets painful, although she’s still grinning. “Even you, Sverige.”

“Even m’, mm?” Sweden raises a brow, but she’s gone from concerned to amused, Denmark can tell.

“Well, sometimes.” Denmark clinks her whiskey against Sweden’s beer, the sound of glass connecting a cheerful one. “Skål!”

“Th’t’s more l’ke y’.” Sweden smirks, raising her beer up. “Skål.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
Despite Finland’s tempting fate, the next morning sees them at Roskilde’s historic railway station with no more than a mild headache plaguing any of their group at worst. Having already returned the rental cars to the agency, the five of them wait on the platform that will take Sweden, Finland, Norway, and Iceland to Copenhagen, and its airport that will see them all home.

“Your turn next year, Nor,” Denmark rocks on her heels, grinning at the shorter Nation. “Better start planning-owww!”

“I told you her head would get swelled.” Norway moves away her foot from where it had slammed into Denmark’s. Sweden nods in agreement and Finland simply makes that noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, like she can’t decide which to do.

“Or maybe you’re worried Norway will outdo you?” Iceland offers up, ignoring Denmark’s sputter.

“Now, now, it’s not a contest,” Finland says firmly, the edge of steel in her voice lending her an extra air of authority. “Whatever happens will be fun, no matter who’s hosting, right?”

“Yes, _Mor_ ,” Denmark shoots back while rolling her eyes, and this time it’s Finland’s turn to sputter. “We’ll be good-”

The calm pre-recorded voice that announces the train’s arrival in five minutes, first in Danish followed by Norwegian and Swedish, cuts Denmark off mid-sentence. It’s something of a shock back to reality, that their vacation time is really at an end. For a moment there’s a lull of sound none of them feel up to filling.

“Oh, I just remembered.” Denmark finally breaks the silence, rummaging around in her messenger bag. She pulls out four clear CD cases, each one containing a disc labeled ‘Vacation Pics’ in her recognizably messing scrawl. “Here, all the pictures I took this round!”

“Y’fit ‘em all on one d’sc?” Sweden asks with brow arched, but her fingers clasp around the proffered case none the less.

“Barely,” Denmark admits, but she’s grinning brightly. “Figured it’d be more eco-friendly this way, less paper n’ all.”

They can all hear the rumbling of the approaching train now, the hum of the engine and pistons moving several tons of weight very quickly. Automatically, they all do a last minute check to see all their things are as they should be before they board.

“Hey, before you go…” Denmark trails off hopefully, camera tellingly in hand. The others exchange glances, before Norway sighs and steps forward.

“Fine. But just one, or we’ll miss the train.”

The Dane beams happily, not wasting any time as she quickly finagles one of her passing citizens into getting a shot of all five of them together. The picture taken, she gets back the camera with some fast but sincere words of thanks.

“I’ll send it to your email, so you’ll see it when you get back!” Denmark says as the train pulls in. The door open automatically, people slowly making their way out and leaving it free for those about to leave. Saying their last good-byes to her, the four other Nordics file onto the train and find their seats. Even from the window, Denmark can still be seen waving enthusiastically, and if they humor her and return the gesture as the train starts to pull away, well…

…it had been a good vacation, after all.

 

**END**

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
Notes:

Roskilde-One of the oldest towns in the Danish island of Zealand, founded in 998 and named according the legend of a Viking king named Ro who built the city around a spring (Danish “kilde”), hence “Roskilde”. It was one of the most important European cities during the Middle Ages, and the Gothic cathedral built there is a World Heritage site. Danish kings and queens are still buried on its grounds. In the modern era, Roskilde is best known for its university and the Roskilde Festival, one of the largest music fests in Europe. The fairgrounds Roskilde Festival is held on are often used for flea markets and agricultural exhibitions during other times of the year.

Frikadeller-Pan-fried ground meat dumplings kind of similar to meatballs. They’re popular in Denmark, Germany, and Poland.

Akvavit-Like vodka, distilled from potatoes or grain, but also usually flavored with herbs, spices, or fruits oils. A popular liquor in Scandinavian countries.

Olsen-Banden-One of Denmark’s most popular film series about a gang of criminals who are nevertheless harmless and never use violence. Usually used as a kind of social commentary, since their plots usually end up being foiled by the corrupt establishment. Very popular through all of Scandinavia, with Norway and Sweden even making their own versions of Olsen Gang movies.

That damn chess scene-The most iconic scene of Swedish director Ingmar Bergman's _The Seventh Seal_ , of Death playing a game of chess with a knight for his life.

That time in Gotland-[Valdemar IV of Denmark](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valdemar_IV_of_Denmark)’s brutal massacre of over 1800 inhabitants of Visby in wealthy Swedish Gotland in order to seize the island for Denmark and capitalize on Baltic trade.

Män som hatar kvinnor-More famously known in English as “The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo”, the first book of the Millienium trilogy by Stieg Larsson. Also very heavy.

Vikingeskibsmuseet-Roskilde’s famous Viking Ship Museum, which has many examples of Viking era ships retrieved from the Roskilde fjord they had been purposely sunk in to block the city from invasion by sea. There are even working models of the ships that can be sailed as well as other historical artifacts.

Smørrebrød-The famous Danish open-faced sandwiches, which can be made with any combination of toppings, bread, and condiments.

[Talking To You](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Talking_to_You): Denmark’s 2005 Eurovision Semi-Final Entry.

[In A Moment Like This](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_a_Moment_Like_This): Denmark’s 2010 Eurovision Entry.

Skål-Literally, “cheers!”

Roskilde Station-The oldest still operating train station in Denmark, opening for operations in 1847.

Mor-Danish, “mother”.


End file.
